


home is where the heart is

by dykejaskiers



Series: Gobblepot Holiday High Jinks 2019 [8]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Slice of Life, Wordcount: 100-1.000, married vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dykejaskiers/pseuds/dykejaskiers
Summary: "You sent me a text," Oswald started, and Jim heard him limp over to the kitchen counter. "Emergency.""Yeah," Jim said. "We were out of mint.""Oh?" Oswald asked, his voice dripping with venom. "We were out ofmint?"
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Jim Gordon
Series: Gobblepot Holiday High Jinks 2019 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559254
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	home is where the heart is

**Author's Note:**

> sdfghjks "daily" i said as if i'd ever manage that..... ah, well, here's a short fluffy piece until i continue the trilogy (?) of stranded in sheridan / my love is dangerous
> 
> tumblr(s) can be found at wesleywyndcm / queergordon!

"What's the matter with you?"

Jim looked up from where he was chopping parsley into finer, smaller portions. Oswald was standing by the entrance to the kitchen, arms crossed. He looked disappointed, and a little pissed – but then, that was somewhat chronic, with him.

"What?" Jim asked, returning to his chopping.

"You sent me a text," Oswald started, and Jim heard him limp over to the kitchen counter. " _Emergency_."

"Yeah," Jim said. "We were out of mint."

"Oh?" Oswald asked, his voice dripping with venom. "We were out of _mint?_ "

Jim glanced at him. "I didn't realize you'd take it seriously." He had, a little bit. Maybe he’d kind of hoped, at least – because Oswald had been stuck in meetings all week, mostly came home late just to crawl into bed next to Jim and fall asleep – and Jim, down with the flu and going stir crazy, wanted an excuse to not be alone, tonight. 

"You're incorrigible," Oswald said, but he sounded fond, like maybe he knew all that. 

"That's a 67-point word," Jim replied.

“I hate you.”

“Yeah,” Jim said, somewhat distractedly. “Love you, too. Wanna help?”

Oswald didn’t. But he did sit down, and tell Jim about his meetings; grumbled about the morons he worked with or employed, the sheer amount of saintly patience he exercised on the daily. Jim doubted anyone would ever, under any circumstances, call anything about Oswald _saintly_ , but he kept his remark to himself and moved on to slicing tomatoes, boiling water, cooking pasta.

“Why did you text me?” Oswald finally asked, once dinner was underway enough for Jim to sit down, too. 

“I told you,” he said, and corked open a bottle of red he’d been saving for when his throat didn’t feel like he’d swallowed broken glass. “Out of mint.”

Oswald pursed his lips and quirked a brow. He accepted the glass of red, when pushed his way.

“Fine,” Jim continued. Oswald had an uncanny ability to speak sentences in complete silence. “I missed you.”

“You’re an idiot, James,” Oswald said, but what he meant was something entirely different. 

“Quit being so sappy.”

Oswald sipped his wine. “That’s a 12-point word.” A beat. “How advanced of you.”

Jim grinned, and when Oswald rolled his eyes but indulged him in a toast, a sweet _clink_ of their glasses, he felt, somehow, absurdly content.


End file.
